Wills that are fortified by ancestral lines fuel the laziness of his spirit, a heart that is cemented by the weight of expectations beating to the beat of the stillness before the storm — as a kind of bad omen. It was similar to the waves before the impact of a tsunami, or the silence that inhabits the forest of his domain under vague attempts at meditation and retribution. The only witnesses are the moon, the stars, and the executioner who seals the final verdict.
Yet, even so, his sin is only sin if it is exposed. As long as it is buried in the earth that rests on the soles of his sandals and suffocated to never to come up again, he can go on pretending that there are no putrid musings infecting the recesses of his head. He can go on dedicating smiles laden with softness and tenderness towards his best friend, sliding his hand down his back, feigning principled affability. He can maintain his morality in the presence of a storm — elude the call that seduces him to the depths of the ocean. Drown out the sound of a voice that does not belong to him. Kill with his own hands a warmth that should not be answered, but eradicated.
Tomo did not expect such obstruction. It did not fall within his established parameters, and it was outside the limitations of his actions. It was as unreachable (almost, almost -- though he can touch it) as the Musou no Hitotachi of the Raiden Shogun. Such celestial elements, beyond the reach of mortals, were not to be touched. Divinity cannot be consumed by greed; sin cannot taint what has been purified.
Though, just as the Musou no Hitotachi may be held by those who dare to defy the glow of lightning, so may your small figure find its way into his greedy hands.
He did not believe, under unforeseen determinations and sideways glances, that such a thing would borderline that breach. You were Kazuha's girlfriend, naturally his companion on his travels in unknown lands, but an absolute line that was not to be crossed. It was necessary for the most important people in his life to get along, of course, such a thing was undeniable — but in an instant, unnoticed, friendly nudges turned into prolonged grazes. The stars in his eyes twinkled in contemplation of your laughter. His heart began to dance to the sound of your hips. His hands wanted more. His ribs wanted more. His lips wanted more.
Feelings germinated in unbreakable facades, wills so volatile that they are broken by the desire for what cannot be possessed. Questions in the middle of the night are born in recondite spaces, agitated sighs with guttural moans intoning Zai-ra, Zai-ra, Zai-ra, Zai-ra repeating like a mantra, a scarred and veined hand breaking the wooden headboard by the sheer force exerted. Imbalances are born; restless, involuntary, unnamable desires.
If you were mine...
They are unacceptable, heresy that deserves hanging; a body that must be subjected to infernal flames, to unreachable temples, to writhing beasts —
If you were mine, if you were mine, if you were mine, if you were mine...
Envy is a cruel emotion that devours from the inside out, like a parasite that spreads its venom through the veins, turning them into a viscous crimson that burns under the touch of phalanges. Such a hellish texture; a texture that tastes bitter, causing bile to clog Adam's apple and his intestines to intertwine with each other, rotting his vitality. It poisons the strength of his rough dreams, soft to the touch, but prickly if inspected too closely. It makes him what he faces and fights in his day to day life, putting his beliefs at stake.
But would it be him if he did not stay to look into the eyes of the one responsible for his sentence?
On this particular night there was nothing out of the ordinary, the stem of the small green flower between his teeth, his head back as a smile rested on his lips. His legs were spread, hugging his robe, the front sliding down the sides of his ribcage to reveal a bit of his chest that is only lightly covered by the scarf. The beer mugs are empty in front of his body and his stamina is exceptional, unlike an albino, who was staggering against the small table.
“Kazuha, you drank too much.” A small smack on his head, tilting his face a portion, preserving that amused tinge in his orbs. “You plan to leave all the work to Mimi and me to carry you? You're particularly convinced that it will turn out the way you expect one more time.”
“More, a little more —” A voice slightly wizened by alcohol consumption, complexion sliding across the counter, cheek collapsing against a jar. “Please, more…”
“... You always had zero resistance to alcohol, after all.”
Hands on his knees, standing tall, his height gaining several heads to his friend. His build was bulkier than what was apparent a few years ago, and he accentuated every part of his attributes well with the yukata. A myriad of constellations decorated his torso, a hardened chest with calloused palms from sheathing swords. Maturity had blessed his physiognomy, and were it not for the scar on his nose or those residing at every point of his anatomy, he would say he was unholy with imperfections. His hair was only disheveled by a bunch of locks by the end of the evening, which was worth noting.
He was about to help him regain his composure when he saw your silhouette cross the threshold, stopping his movements unexpectedly, smiling at you. His face lowered a fraction to admire your body in greater detail, taking in every appreciation and engraving it in the chinks of his mind — a fantasy he nurtures after closing the door, broken backrests and shattered glass bearing witness to the magnitude to which such desire reaches. On occasion, if he feels adventurous, he fucks his pillow and imagines it's your small pussy hugging his cock so nicely. If he puts his mind to it, he swears he can almost hear your voice, murmuring softly: To-mo, To-mo, To-mo, To-mo, without a Kazuha to burst in.
(Is it cruel just how fascinating he finds the idea?)
“Zaira.” A soft gasp, almost like a prayer. “He's drunk again. I think a stranger dressed in flamboyant green clothes offered him too much to drink when my back was turned.” He crosses gaps with you, his complexion towering over yours, forcing you to ascend your sight in order to get in touch with his sense of vision. He tilts his face slightly, and leans in, bringing a gloved hand to your chin, examining you — a vague excuse for your smooth dermis to dissolve in his fingers. “Stay sober, will you? I don't need to drag two drunkards on my back tonight.” A motion was employed, thumb exerting pressure, his face slightly close to yours. “Be a good girl for me. Behave nicely.”
The double entendre of the sentence is a double-edged sword, with opportunities to be pursued should the chance present itself. If only you gave him the instance—his friendship with Kazuha be damned—he wouldn't hesitate to lock himself in one of the bathrooms with you, close the door, pull down your underwear, and foce his cock down your soft cunt, gagging you against the wall, fucking you; etching himself inside you so as not to be forgotten, burying so deep under the prison of his own longings.
“I could go drop him off at his room and you and I have a drink. Your resistance is better than his, at least.”
It is the shadow of evil, expanding until it covers everything. It tingles in his fierceness; in how he devours you as if you are already his, and he only has to claim you.
"Unless you don't want to keep me company tonight? Which would be fine, of course. But, still. It would be... nice.” A hand against your forehead, pressing his own, the lock of his light brown hair covering slightly dilated pupils. “I think I can be a decent object of entertainment. I also know the art of swords. I could provide you with a dance.” He wouldn't specify which, ruffling your hair, taking a disproportionate distance. Necessary — a necessary one. Otherwise, you don't know how long it would take him to slam you against the bar, and fuck you right there next to Kazuha to prove a point. “Your answer?”
A man possesses infinite loyalty, and more so if his principles align.
But if it's a woman he covets (and loves), desire is crafty; it dominates until consummation.
And he wants to consummate everything with you.
Tomo.
The warm surrounding breeze caressed every inch of her body that was exposed to the environment. Calm footsteps flooding the streets of the city of freedom along with the chitter chatter of the locals, there is a heavy sigh after a deep breath, smelling the familiar scent that took her years to leave behind along with every little memory and experience flooded in her hometown.
Curious and nostalgic eyes wander around every corner with attention and a smile plastered on her lips, there are those she recognizes and others she does not, but one thing is certain. Nothing has changed at all.
Her complexion shortens its distance with the large door of the tavern that many times she had frequented when she still lived in the place, as usual there were people drinking as if the next war between Archons was approaching, some were already on the floor blabbing nonsense, some were just in their first drinks and others were struggling to stand. Eyes catching familiar faces, Knights of Favonius tasting the delicious dandelion wine, a fiery red hair at the bar handling alcohol bottles to those who wanted to frown frustrations, until her eyes fell on your large figure just a few steps away and she felt her heart suddenly race.
At this point it was undeniable.
Guilty feelings wanting to be fought with tooth and claw but sadly they were much stronger, slipping through her fingers like fine sand as she watched herself fall harder and harder. A ticking time bomb of emotions that at any moment would explode and there are moments when she regrets every decision made before.
She still remembers the moment she met you together with Kazuha, dark times in the city of Inaazuma when they were persecuted by the Decree of Capturing Visions, she had barely arrived to the city she longed to know, finding herself escaping from a situation she never thought she could find herself in, seeking shelter in supportive souls who extended a hand and a place to stay until the worst was over. In her mind etched the sweet way in which your lips formed a smile, that warm tone with which you addressed her making her heart flutter and the blush running fast to her cheeks when a connection was formed between her brown eyes and the violet ones of yours, simply beautiful. Until many feelings were involved, finding herself falling for Kazuha but being unable to erase you from her memory, being the owner of stolen sighs on the nights she was without company, soft pleas of your name rolling from her lips to deaf hears when her hands roamed her quivering body, imagining they were yours instead. Picturing herself kissing your lips, and hearing the way your voice calls for her name, only desiring with such a force she would be yours and you would be hers
Such a desire that would only remain buried deep in the recesses of her mind with only her conscience knowing her darkest secrets.
"Tomo.", fixing the skirt of her attire a little she looks at you, a smile on her face until she hears your words and turns to the albino. Stranger dressed in a flamboyant green, huh? "Stupid, tone deaf bard.", she whispers as her fingers gently remove a lock of her boyfriend's hair, giving her a chance to visualize the small red tint on his cheeks due to the alcohol. "I hope he didn't drink too much, unless he will have a terrible headache the moment he wakes up tomorrow.", nails caressing the sleepy man's smooth skin as he mumbles unintelligible phrases. "Oh! And the place is already booked. A kitchen, a bathroom and two rooms, one king size bed each and they're big enough so I don't think there would be a problem as for the space."
She lets out a little chuckle, before turning to you and your proximity sets her nerves on edge. Feeling your breath crash against her face as she listens to your words intently and the sting of your touch against her skin, begging and yearning for more, but letting out a little sob when your fingers stop touching her, swallowing hard when you say the last thing, hearing your voice sound an octave lower than normal. "I will, don't worry about it, the thing is... Will you be the one behaving? I was born and raised here. I can take it, but as for you? I'm not quite sure actually."
A teasing grin without showing her teeth is plastered over her glossy lips, breath hitching and eyes closing when she feels you so close your lips almost touch and your breaths mingle into one, one wrong step and you end up kissing, your mouth looks pretty appetizing after all. Having to control herself in the face of such temptation and such a sin makes her blood boil just by thinking about it. "Of course I want, you know I love spending my time with you."
She says this last almost in a whisper, afraid that if she says it louder, her feelings will surge out of control like a tsunami sweeping against a city without being able to be stopped.
"I think you can provide me with any dance of your liking, and this is the perfect opportunity for me to let you taste our delicious dandelion wine.", a tone reflecting certain excitement.
"Go drop him off his room while I get the drinks, okay? I'll be waiting for you on the second floor, usually no one goes over there so it will be easier for us to talk."
Her pulse becomes erratic at the thought that you can finally be alone without interruptions, a perfect drunk Kazuha who won't open his eyes until tomorrow and a warm summer night where absolutely anything can happen, even the unimaginable.
His heart is in mourning, buried in a coffin of what could have been and is not, shredded earth hiding the bones of a love that still beats. If the thorny molded-undergrowth clings to the veins of his aching throbbing, he can feel it in every footstep he takes, as if he were yielding—surrendering with hands of sand a will of steel never ever to be seen, placing his forehead on the sole of his enemy's shoe.
It was a merciful defeat, almost tragic and with honors. He lays all his weapons on the ground, turns his back never to return, and abandons dreams of cherry-flavored kisses against his lips. In his confessional, Celestia and the stars—the very ones who know of his sins; the latent desires to see other people's blood on his sword, or to possess, to possess so raw that there is no more left—forgive his faults, offering absolution from his chains. And perhaps, under the imminence of absolution, he can avoid lowering his gaze a second more. He can avoid seeing you, with that smile that resembles a firelight glimpsing the horizons. He can avoid feeling a malicious pressure; a rustiness in his subconscious, begging him for more—to encompass, to steal, and to take.
Kazuha, however, gives in.
He yields to curiosity. To the question that haunts his darkest thoughts, when the nightlight is at its apex in the softness of his room, and his bloodied knuckles embrace that sweet handkerchief you prepared for him. When his breathing is quicker than usual, and his sword looks sharper. When your watery eyes brush like a flash under his eyelids, and his eyes look so green that envy is palpable.
(What if I were to kill everyone who desires her, and only I am left —
wouldn't such a thing be an ideal world?)
“I missed this, too. It has been quite a while.”
His pause is unanticipated, the skin grazing turning him more susceptible to your body heat, attentive to your every word. In such situations he could be reduced to a devotee, waiting for the final command of a deity. His eyes resemble shimmering pearls as they gaze at you, admiring your every drop, curvature or gesture. At the end of the day, in the penumbra of his psyche, no one knows you better than he does. He has studied you under the blessing of firmaments, universes or constellations, oblivious to his heavy gaze — but you, star of his days; warmth of his loins, will always end up there.
By his side, where no one can steal you, and his selfish but greedy hands dare to kill in your name.
“However, the moon…”
A garden beautiful to the naked eye, the echoing of his shoes leading you down the louvered driveway, where crickets sang to the sound of the fountain in the center, and the light fire kissed trees stretching in floral trails.
“The moon is particularly lovely tonight, isn't it?”
A chink of a smile appears on his facade, as false as his mask of divine absolution. Kazuha discovers, too late, beneath the silhouette of the star illuminating your bodies, that absolution is not required. As long as your body is so close to his, and your lips murmur what he so longs to hear, to hell with absolution. His blood-stained hands may cling—but for a second—to futile innocence, and fear not if the cracks reveal a countenance devoid of fire, leaving the living flesh on display.
If you tilt your face a little, perhaps, you can see it.
The extent to which he’d be willing to go for you.
“On nights like these, under the firmament and the stars, I remember perfectly the first occasion on which I saw you.” Footsteps advance a margin, stopping in front of the fountain, the splash of water so audible that he feels it throbbing in his ears. “I remember your bare feet, hair loose, and the white dress that came to your knees. I remember the crown of flowers that framed your face, and the dance of your hips. I remember flushed cheeks, along with soft tears kissing your eyelashes. I, amongst all these things, vividly remember seeing you, and thinking… How fortunate any man who tread the face of the earth would be — ”
A heavy absent-minded breath, his bulky form veering, and a whole hand traveling to your cheek. As he lets his fingers run across your dermis, he ignores the fire that springs up in the tips of his phalanges — a fire that burns every expanse of his flesh akin to sinfully receiving divine chastisement for yielding to the desires of the ambitious, claiming what is not his own.
For you, he supposes, it is well to burn.
For you, he will take the brunt of this sin.
For you he will be Adam, and he will be Eve — he will bite the apple, and possess forbidden knowledge.
He will defy the incompetence of Gods, he will play with the stipulated threads of fate, he will slaughter the law of the aristocrats — he will let his sword corroborate those who oppose him, even if he has to crucify them.
(That sounds good.
If you are his, that sounds good.)
“... if they were to wake up at your side, and be able to say that you belong to him and only him.”
A hand descends down your neck, traveling slinkily down your arm, crossing your hip and brushing the softness of your thighs with knuckles caressed by violence — heavy body kneeling under the moon's mantle at your feet, holding your hand between his fingers, resting snake-venom tinted lips on the back, so sweet they can be kissed by yours.
It is there, beneath you, on one knee and a solemn expression, that glimpses the gentleness of a heart run amok.
“On the way, as your appointed knight, I made a fatal mistake that deserves my head to be cut off.” His forehead rests against your skin, an unbridled heartbeat pounding against his ribs, raging like a storm in a stream. “My heart has grown ambitious, unpunished by the consequences of the law, succumbing to illusory pleasures and vain dreams.”
His complexion ascends, and his gaze is modified for a millisecond. Longing rests amidst gentleness, but the eye of a hurricane is born in the depths of his distorted musings, the grip on your hand shifting to your wrist, imprisoning it between enlarged fingers.
The arch of the garden hides the birth of a sin in Eden itself, with his tall figure and messy hair trapping you in a gaze that demands your defeat. If you both let go of inhibitions, soon, he knows his hands will get what he desires most—his lips can lock with yours, and his arms embrace your figure as he has so often dreamed, drowning you in the pressure of his body.
(At worst, Kazuha can simply steal you away.
And if he has to memorize his name in your loins, or carve it into your breasts and revel in carnal pleasures, he will.
Oh, for Archons, he will.)
“I have begun to desire that you belong to me heart, soul, and body. I have begun to desire to be that man myself.”
Intimidating footsteps being advanced, pushing you against one of the trunks resting beside the cecilias, raising the hand that had imprisoned above your head. Long white hair falls across his face as he lowers his head to watch you, rubies scanning every facial expression, pausing on rogue tinted lips he's always been tempted to taste with the tip of his tongue.
“Like a fool, envy has grown in my loins — I have become a daring beast, and my reasoning has succumbed to the darkness of the abyss.”
He holds your chin with his free hand, forehead against yours, quickened breath upon your lips. His heart beats to the sound of galloping horses; his bowels twist, where butterflies leave their cages. The veins in his neck follow the path of those in his hand, self-control shrinking to a fine line that could be cut with a scissors.
Oh, how appetizing were your lips —
“Princess Zaira.” Raspy voice, lips being bitten by sharp fangs, until the blood threatens to spurt out in coarse agitated sighs. “Zaira, please,” Eyes closing, the brush of a feather-kiss against your flesh, the hint of his body jerking under such simplicity sending electricity to every point of his complexion. “I regret to tell you that I no longer possess the rationality for contentions, and my whims have crossed the fine line past professionalism.” The same thumb that was on your lips previously plays with your lower one, fluttering desperate exhalations against your mouth. “I'm losing my mind bit by bit, being caged by a sin so fruitful and at the same time, within reach of the palm of my hand.”
If he has you now, he's afraid to say that —
“But I, if you would ask me… For just a second…” He tilts his face, pushing you a little further against the trunk, his knee spreading your legs to bar your escape. “I would crucify a million men and hang their heads on the palace gates if it would guarantee that I could taste your lips as many times as I felt like, and hold your body against mine until my last dying breaths.” A press of lips, the guttural birth of a growl in his chest, vibrating in the expanse. “I beg of you…”
The tension is palpable in his rigid musculature, releasing your hand to rest it on his shoulder, and clinging to your delicate hip to pull you further into his frame and allow you to feel him under heavy fabrics. He is desperate, in the way he contradicts himself, giving pass only to his actions. There is a bead of sweat descending from his forehead down his torso, losing itself in the boob window to his pecs, where his chest rises and falls in sync with the acceleration of his senses.
Deep down, even under his affable self-control, he knows —
“Stop me, or I'm afraid if I taste your lips and let myself get lost in your warmth…” He opens your mouth a little wider, just for him, licking his lips. “I won't let go of you ever again, and I'll do whatever it takes—I'll take whatever lives it takes—to assure that you’re mine, and mine alone. No one else's.”
If Kazuha tastes you, even if it is just a little, there will be no turning back.
Wars have been fought by his right hand, and he has never been a coward to win one.
What would a couple of kingdoms be, if his reward is you?
(Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.)
Kazuha.
Her heart swells and creaks against her chest at his sudden words, not wanting to get her hopes up in anticipation of such sayings even though she knows their traditional meaning beforehand. Instead, she merely limits her actions to smiling, her eyes deposited on your profile before the gloom of the night.
"Yeah… so pretty.", eyes never resting on the sky from above, admiring your calm features. "It never looked more beautiful I'd say."
There's an ache in her heart, blinding feelings that push her further into an impulse from which she doesn't know if there's any turning back. A forbidden love from which would not only steal judgmental glances and her mother's disapproval, but also the consequence of never seeing you again if something were to happen outside of people's gossipy stares.
But when you start talking about that fateful day, there is nothing else that floods her mind but that mere memory of the sweet gleam in your beautiful eyes, a warmth that had not been matched by anyone else and a soft smile that welcomed her with open arms.
"I never thought you would remember it in such detail." a smile escapes her, recalling a calm voice asking her if everything was all right as hot tears were shed over the pink of her cheeks. The truth had to be told, that had been the very day where she had had a very heated fight with her mother over her duties as the future heir to the throne. Having to be forced to marry someone completely unknown to her eyes and heart, just for the benefit of nations but the prejudice causing a bitter taste on the roof of her mouth. Being your presence the only thing bringing her down to earth since then.
Her fists clench at the very memory, a prickling sensation in her chest and that urge to want to escape and never be seen again every second grew stronger. But her dream of leaving everything behind to have the life of a fugitive and hide in the gloom of the forest inside a lovely cabin near the river, was now a goal she longed for to be fulfilled, especially since she had a recent addition. You.
Now more than ever, listening intently to every sentence that comes out of your mouth in despair, her gaze losing itself in your lips and her throat rising and falling as your rough fingers make contact with her skin, sending a current of electricity coursing through her shivering body from head to toe and causing her imagination to run wild, yearning for those words she so longs to hear that have only been spoken deep within her psyche, buried in her imagination for no one but herself and her conscience o hear.
Pulse pounding, silence is all you get coming from her but it's just a signal for you to keep speaking freely. Feeling like in a dream when the man who has been the master of her darkest fantasies and the thief of her quick breaths and sighs of your name in lonely nights, admits with the rawness of his heart those feelings, that seemed to be just an illusion, ate him up inside.
Her delicate white nightgown that reaches her bare knees barely rises as you corner her against the trunk. Her breath gets stuck in the deepest recesses of her throat as she has never been so overwhelmed by your proximity, feeling the heat of your body immediately transmit to hers and your hot breath collide against the opening of her partially parted lips. A surge of nervousness fills her, but when you say her name, the please rolling off your tongue to reach her eardrums bathed in that sweet tone, that thread of self-control by which she was barely hanging on, breaks completely.
"Kazuha.", sweetly calling your name, the darkness of the night not letting you see the ruddy tint on her cheeks but if you were to tilt your head just a little, the bright moonlight would allow you to. "What am I, if not a sinner myself, when I have loved a man who's not the one I'm supposed to?"
Her palm rests on your clenched jaw at her confession, slender fingers caressing your cheeks, dilated pupils gazing at you with mere desire and adoration, making it possible for her to inspect your every expression as she slowly closes the distance, shifting her gaze between your orbs and your appetizing lips. "I'm not going to stop you—" she says simply, whispering only for you to hear. "Endless are the nights I've dreamed of you. In them you touch me, you kiss me… you proclaim your love for me over and over again, it would be too selfish of me to do so when I desire it just as much."
"It's only you I want to be with.", her lips barely brush, her hands have now descended to your biceps, lightly squeezing your musculature over your clothes as she feels every brush with your skin burn into her, begging to be able to feel even a little more. A small whimper escapes her mouth as you press her tighter against you, causing her to rub over your leg.
"I want you to tell me I'm yours, and I want you to be mine too." Never let me go, she wants to say, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and at this point her hands rest on the back of your neck, playing with and lightly tugging at your silky tousled white hair as you feel the sharpness of her nails graze your bare skin. "So go on — kiss me so I can belong to you."
A trail of sweat descends from his forehead to his neck, revealing a chest strewn with messy freckles and a blush that spreads to his ears. His breathing is accelerated now, heart rate increasing in level as his face remains lowered a portion, ignoring the myriad of lewd comments or hearts scattered across the screen.
If Diluc had you in front of him right now, he knows he'd end up breaking you.
Every time he flexes his muscles and his toned abdomen contracts, he has to give himself a moment to not get carried away by the sensations coursing through his body. Quiet, despite the fact that within hesitant pretense lies a palpable resentment, he can't stop himself from imagining you—he can feel your soft strands between his fingers as he pushes you down to the mattress, and almost feel his balls slapping against your ass as he forces you to take it all the way to the base. His imagination was a little active that night. Maybe it's the pent-up frustration. Maybe it's jealousy. Maybe it's the palpable desire, or the inordinate absence between the two of you.
He wants to gag you.
He wants to punish you.
He wants to make you cry.
The pocket pussy he's carved to your size doesn't have much satisfaction to offer him, yet as he slides it down his enlarged cock, thick veins throbbing under the friction that has him disproportionately sensitive—he falls surrendered to sensations that have him letting out heavy breaths, pumping his cock until that little pussy (just as tiny as yours -- can barely take him whole) is embracing him in full, lifting his hips so he can thrust hard. Brusque. Animalistic.
The desk moves with his onslaught, a glory for the camera with his pecs visible, his mouth being the only thing on his face that's appreciable for the audience as his lewd tongue lolls out, fangs accompanying every guttural moan that causes the virtual tips to multiply. The veins in his hands are framed under the aggressiveness of his own movements, stomach contracting at every stifled sigh or intonation of a name that is akin to a (Jaz-min, Jaz-min, Jaz-min), audible to red-blushed ears.
His cock is a marvel of freckled constellations that kiss his base, extension, veins, and thighs; he has a bush of crimson hair that makes a happy trail traverse to the center of his navel, where there is a piercing in his stomach, decorated with scars or cuts that extend to his back from all the late night fights or encounters he has ended up in. Dark ink tattoos reveal abstract messages covering almost his entire complexion, and one particular: “Jazmin's property” on his hip.
The mark burns on his skin—burns at every movement of his cock inside the toy, or descent of his own pre-seminal fluids staining the base, decorating his pretty cock in a slippery mess that becomes more latent with every thrust in and out, making him pull his head back. He can barely keep his breathing under control, mumbling a, “That's the way you like it, isn't it? Getting pounded like a slut. My pretty little slut.” His brain taking over the stage, voice a low octave, raspy from the suffocation taking over. The camera gave him an angle that made his thick thighs visible, heavy, cum-filled balls making him shudder. He imagines it's you. That it's your pretty pussy embracing him, enveloping him in a maddening heat; he almost loses his sanity as he closes his eyelids, his free hand holding the desk. It creaks beneath the brutal grip. “I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to make you cry. Because that’s what you want. So that's what I'll give you. I'll ruin you with my cock. I'll ruin you for everyone else.”
Almost frantic lunges, a heated face reddening to match his strands—watching Diluc cum and letting the gooey essence stain that pocket-pussy as he milks himself dry is an act of glory in itself, with his intimidating gaze descending for a single second into the camera. The clear, sticky liquid is coming out in light ropes of cum, but his mood is yet not affable.
It’s not your pussy.
“Stream ends for today,” He repositions himself, and begins to slowly pull out of the sex object, positioning it at one end of his almost busted desk. Many people are freaking out under his gaze, some disappointed, and some curious -- but he has things to take care of. “Certain things have happened that I have to take care of, so there will be no video until they're addressed.”
The moment he logs off and brings a hand to his messy hair, he knows he has a problem at hand:
Ajax, and his absurd closeness to you.
[...]
There are vehicles purring on the race track, the sound of skidding and euphoric screams flooding every space present. Neon illuminates the road in front of individuals looking to amass a fortune by betting in their favor, but of all, Diluc is one of the names that has been most prevalent in the high seasons.
Not only was he exceptional on the track, but his BUGATTI Divo was an absolute beast. The drifting and speed capacity it achieved left him in first place multiple times, making him someone who was difficult to win to—feared on the road, on the streets, and in all areas of his life, he was not a man to be confronted by random individuals. Always carrying an expression of seriousness, hardened construction, and a dark eyeliner that anchored his gaze, followed by the leather jacket over his black turtleneck t-shirt. He was intimidating at best, not a guy to take lightly.
But, after everything, there was someone who didn't seem to get that message.
Someone ignorant, messing with what doesn't belong to him.
It's been seven days since Diluc spoke to you. Seven days of distance since your last discussion, having a specific reason: Ajax. You've mentioned him in anticipation, being that he was one of your oldest best friends -- a stupid brat who had taken over your routine, breaking into the stillness and calm to snatch you from his grasp. He started coming to visit, taking up temporary residence in your apartment, and taunting him to his face with morbid smiles and middle fingers as he took it upon himself to monopolize your time. Appointments he had scheduled with you were replaced by visits to the movies or expensive lunches sponsored by the aforementioned, and the shadow of his presence became so plausibly heavy that it pushed him to his limits.
He had never hated someone this way.
He had never wanted to kill someone this way.
He had never wanted to ruin someone this way.
He knows it's intentional, by how he discourses in his sense of vision, pacing you in front of his eyes as if he has the right to touch you, look at you, or even breathe your very oxygen. Hands sliding around your waist, wicked smiles falling on hostile lips—she prefers me—brown eyes examining him with derision—she’s mine—obsession just as catastrophic as his, sinking him in a tidal wave of emotions that melt his reasoning.
He has been with you for years. Diluc knows you wouldn't trade him for any man. He knows he's the only one for you. He knows that. He knows the argument had no reason to happen. It was a simple misunderstanding that has a solution, and he just has to reach out to you to solve it instead of letting that iron wall come between you.
But, he sees it. He sees the subtle dip and smile on that bastard's lips as he presents you with yet another expensive gift, or the way he holds your hand, intertwining (friendly—) fingers against yours —
“Diluc? The race is about to start.” It's Jean's voice, breaking through the muteness of his psyche. Pitifully, he sees only red, his knuckles cracking under semi-covered gloved fists. “Diluc? Are you ready?”
Red.
He is red.
He sees red.
Senses clouding, taking over his figure as he begins to cut tracts with distant complexions— when there's a ringing in his ears, disconnecting him from that astral stretch to leave a shadow of grudges; when there are grieving hearts dying under blazing fires of hatred /lively hatred, burning entrails and poisoning them with rot/; when dark boots skim the surface of one of the available food stalls, there is no trace of what Diluc was, nor what he will be.
He can see you frowning, probably annoyed after he doubted you. And he might give it importance — he might even pause for a second to vocalize things calmly, but he doesn't, looking at the dark curly-haired male with the challenging gaze.
Would you dare?
“Sorry, have you lost something?” There's a cocked head, beefy chest against his, your silhouette being hidden behind a broad back. His blood is boiling. “Oh, of course. I forgot. Mimi doesn't want to talk to you.” A feigned tone of disappointment, almost as if he cares. Diluc, however, can see right through him. He sees how gleeful he is to push him away -- how set on it he seems to find himself. “I will put it nicely. Don’t be a burden, yeah?”
That's the thread, the snipping of the scissors happening in slow motion.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
Pupils dilating to the max —
She's mine.
“You, a good-for nothing…”
A hand on his neck, followed by a sharp slam to the ground —
“Who the hell do you think you are to be in her life?”
Soon, one punch follows another, and another, the thud against flesh alerting several individuals now crowding around the two figures. At that moment, there is no longer any connection to humanity. There are only fierce glares, knuckles drenching in blood, followed by quickened breaths or screams inciting the bloody encounter to continue taking presence.
“You have no right to even breathe her oxygen,” Another punch, knees around a suffocated complexion, broken breaths coming out with airy laughter. “You have no right to touch her. She's not yours. She'll never be yours.” Another punch. There's a spit of blood, but no arrest. His sanity has been deposited in endless hesitations, giving way to the ferocity of an unseeing beast. “She is mine. And if I have to beat you to death to prove it, I will.”
A sudden tug at the collar of his jacket, a headbutting settling on his nose —
Crimson liquid drips down the nasal organ, and soon, another punch as a counterattack, but a cackle leaves bloodied lips, followed by unfocused eyes. “You punch like a little bitch.” A toothed laugh, crimson with blood, followed by foreign knuckles against one of his cheekbone. “Shut the fuck up.”
Between two entities whose perception of belonging over you are different, there's just screeching inciting appreciable violence, with crude punches and elbows flying all over the place.
The only sure thing is, if Diluc has to rip him to shreds or break his bones to be the only man in your life, he will. Because you are his. His, and no one else's.
No bastard will change that, because he who tries, will end up gagged under the weight of his kicks, or until his instincts render them unrecognizable.
Diluc.
"I just…", there is a long, deep sigh that is flooded with frustration as she looks at the little stick adorned by three mochi balls of different colors each. "I don't know, it's stupid, you know? We were… fine and then all of a sudden the fights started. I've never seen him like this and it's—" she takes a bite of the food, her cheeks filled with its sweet taste. "—absurd, and I don't know what to do. A week, a fucking week without speaking to each other, we're silent, we eat in silence, we sleep in silence… Dude I'm freezing at night because he doesn't hug me."
Her lips let out a little whimper as she starts on the second mochi ball. "We haven't even kissed." her eyes widen, pointing at his lips in disbelief. "It's like he's not there at all…but I won't give in. He has to learn his lesson, and— " mouth filling with food one last time, tossing the small wooden stick into a nearby trash can as a heavy snort rolls off her tongue. "—and I'm so sorry, darling. We were supposed to have a nice evening before you left but here I am, rambling about problems with my boyfriend who doesn't seem to understand that I have the right to have male friends." she bangs her head against his shoulder, not being able to understand how the situation got to such a point that you are not even able to look at each other.
There is a stabbing pain in her chest, gnawing at her senses and thoughts as her mind travels back just a few days. Her thoughts don't remember him ever being angry, always keeping a low and calm countenance, knowing how to deal with situations in a mature and rational way so that there would be no misunderstandings, but it's like… If something specific had been broken. As if all that had been a mere facade to hide the real Diluc, a beast with a fire in his eyes brighter than the crimson of his tousled hair.
"I promise, next time I'm the one visiting you, we still have so much to catch up on."
"Bet, you're going to have me two hours early waiting for you at the airport." there's a smile and a slight bump of the shoulders as the taller one hesitates for a second before handing her a small box. "Thought it'd cheer you up."
"What is this?" The girl holds the small blue velvety box, her favorite color by the way, between her fingers with extreme delicacy, opening it carefully to find a beautiful gold plated necklace, adorned with a small heart in the center, the same jewel she had paid her attention to a few days before when they were taking a quiet walk in the center of the city. Eyes shining and wide open at such beauty, covering her mouth with the palm of her hand and fixing her gaze on him again in disbelief. "It's —Oh my God, it's beautiful, you… You really didn't have to, I—", the words get stuck in her throat, content is plastered on her face and cheerful tone but before she can say something corny and be able to thank him properly, a red hair floods her sight.
It all happens too fast, a frown takes over her expression and the large figure of her friend lands in front of her, a couple of tension laden words are exchanged but before she can take matters into her own hands, her boyfriend is providing punches to the curly one's face, he looks… unrecognizable. Like he's someone completely different from who he used to be.
There is the crack of bones, the deadening sound of knuckles being smashed against flesh and a few drops of blood even soaking the floor and part of her shoes along with words full of deafening venom in front of her eardrums.
There's a moment where the crowd of people becomes suffocating, and before she realizes it her hands pull the red-haired man's arm hard, hard enough to pull him off the top of the other's body, quickly going to the aforementioned and helping him up. "Fuck fuck fuck—," she says under her breath at the sight of a black eye, a broken nose and prominent bleeding that seems unwilling to stop to the point of staining his t-shirt, along with swollen cheekbones tainted with a strong crimson color. "Shit, Ajax," she calls his name with a palm to her cheek until a little blood trickles down her fingers. The boy looks up with a small whimper of pain leaving his lips, but the gesture he makes with his head in the direction of the exit gives her the pass.
"I'll be back, I promise I'll be back, yeah? Ei—" she calls after her friend on the other side of the counter, ironic without saying more since she can't cook. "—Can you take care of him while I'm gone, please, I have something to take care of."
The girl silently nods before helping him up, giving her the opportunity to be able to turn around and face her biggest problem.
Diluc fucking Ragnvindr.
There's a sleeve grab in between, her hand gripping the man's wrist tightly with a charged fury that she hoped he could feel between her fingers her great anger. Leading them without saying a single word quickly until they reached an uninhabited little alleyway blind to thr eye of the crowd showing up for the illegal races as they did every night.
Her heart pounding, hands shaking lightly as she releases him and a lump making its presence known in her throat that elicits only words laden with resentment.
"Are you out of your mind? What the actual fuck was all that about?", and for the first time she deigns to look at him. "My friend, Diluc, my fucking friend, are you serious? I can't believe you did all this when I only asked you for one fucking thing, I haven't seen him in years and this is how things end? You broke his nose, you disfigured his face and it would be a miracle if he didn't go blind in one eye, you know? Are you happy with that? You acted like a fucking animal out there, seriously, what's your problem?"
"I've given you all of me, I think I proved to you more than was in my power that I'm yours." At this point the tears come of their own accord, anger and frustration mixed in little salty drops sliding down her rosy cheeks. "Everything— everything I left behind. I left my family, I left my home to come here and be with you, I want to believe that this is just a stupid misunderstanding and that things will go back to normal." now standing in front of him she sees it more clearly. "So I give you ten minutes to start talking or I swear my legs won't tremble to turn around to go get my stuff and go back the way I came, I don't care how many months — how many years I end up crying over you."
As a member of the Order of Knights led by Beidou, his main job is to protect and entrust his life to clients in need of them. It was an unbearable responsibility that chained him to unknown lands for certain periods of time, and currently, he was at the pinnacle of his career. Kazuha yearned for nothing more than the foreign path of an adventure, but he had a more important moral dilemma, being his job.
In the midst of that dilemma, however, something improbable happened.
As if the gods were punishing him for impertinence, Kazuha was assigned as guardian and protector of a princess from distant lands. The princess was betrothed to one of the Yashira Commissioners, Kamisato Ayato, in a marriage that would connect nations in the future. It was not so complex to adapt to a routine that would be predictable, being a job he was not unfamiliar with, but still, nothing prepared him for the fall. He was not warned in any manual, much less informed in advance, of the events he would face.
You.
Kazuha expected many things from a princess, except someone like you. You came to him like cherry blossom petals at the change of season, soft against his skin, and bright under the mantle of the sun. You had a particularly infectious smile, and an aura that pulled everyone to adore you. You were the palace's lotus flower, and over time, you had become his — almost fairytale-like, enchanting the heart of a samurai navigator unfamiliar with the settlement.
Soon, you began to pull him to tea evenings, or to nocturnal escapades in castle passages. You encouraged him to practice the art of dancing, and submit to the pleasures of reading. You took him to the edges of his knowledge, where a pen and paper were his companion, scrolls and scrolls of poetry dedicated to a vessel that could not receive them.
His duty as a knight was to take care of you until the day your future betrothed claims your hand, and he knows this to perfection. Beidou stressed to him on multiple occasions that becoming attached to their recipients would never bring any good, and he always thought he would be cautious enough to avoid it. It would be impossible for someone like him to put professionalism aside, being someone who takes the aspects that his responsibility brings very seriously.
When the palace was rocked by the information that Kamisato Ayato would be visiting in a few days, however, he couldn't help the hatred that coursed through his veins.
Was it sickening to feel like this?
It was the first occasion he had imagined the edge of his blade at someone's throat. It is the first occasion that his hands have trembled with anger, and his fist has slammed against the glass of his room. It's the first time he's been devastated, pacing endlessly in his chambers, wondering if it wouldn't be simpler to kill the aforementioned and make it look like an accident.
Or rob you before he does.
His usually calm, glitter-laden eyes have lost their usual intonation, narrowing to two calculating rubies, unable to let you out of their sight. As much as he wants to be an ineffable, capable and ideal knight, his mind has become plagued with idiocy. He has begun to dream of you with tears in your eyes, his cock in your soft mouth. He has begun to fantasize in the middle of the night about slamming you against the little table where you did your make up every morning, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror while he has one hand on your stomach, marking you with his cock. He has begun to see you in a light that underscores possessiveness — where your warmth overwhelms only him, and no one else.
Kazuha thinks it's a tragedy, these one-sided, forbidden feelings. He is seething in the lurking darkness of jealousy, his calm features reduced to solemn expressionlessness when his feet have guided him to the peacefulness of your chambers, looking at you from the corner of his eye.
There are multiple costly gowns in every expanse of the cabin, jewelry from every province, and objects plated in gold with diamonds. He knows it's anticipation of your fiancé's arrival.
(For some reason, that just makes his mood even more deplorable.)
“Princess.”
He calls to you, closing the door behind him. The moment you turn to see him, the emotion visible on every expanse of his face, a shudder runs through his body. He hates him. He advances a footstep toward you. He wants to destroy him with his bare hands. Hands behind his back. He's going to bathe in his blood.
“It's time for your evening walk. I thought you might want to visit the garden.” The garments of his uniform cling to his complexion, black forging every muscle, fresh bandages on his knuckles and abdomen. There is a small gauze on his cheekbone, the hardened features remaining unchanged. It's the first time he hasn't forged a smile, and he can see it unnerves you. It is inevitable, then, as he is currently burning with envy. “Commander Beidou informed me that once you begin your union in marriage, I will be transferred to another division.” He added, cutting gaps with your body, his height giving him enough authority to look down on you from above. His white hair fell messily down his face, one palm on your shoulder, the other on your lower lip. He ran his thumb over the area. “Pardon my intrusion. Some of your lipstick was smeared.” How he wished the cause was his cock in your throat. He distanced his hand, as if touching you was akin to burning in the flames of hell. “I am sure that once you marry young master Kamisato Ayato, you will not require my presence. You will be safe.”
No. Truthfully, you won't be.
No one can protect you like him. No one deserves you as much as he does. No one can be like him.
“Yet, still, I find myself delusionally hoping…”
A prolonged sigh left his lips, and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. May you be mine once and for all, he forgot to mention. May you be mine and no one else's.
I don't want you to be someone else's.
I can't let you be someone else's.
“... Do you wish for me to escort you?”
Offering you his arm was the only thing he could do.
And in the process, he hoped he wouldn't lose his train of reason. Because if Kazuha loses his reasoning completely, he knows the consequences well enough.
He just prays to the Gods you don't tempt him.
(Temptation is such a fickle little thing, and he finds succumbing not unappealing. At all.
But, for your fiancé, such things are to fear, as he might kill him.)
Kazuha.
Night falls penetrating the large windows that adorn her room in the big castle, the tender moonlight kissing the wooden floor and part of her bed as she looks at herself in the mirror on the small table. There is a certain sadness and disappointment reflected in her features as she looks at herself, but it is as if nothing has changed.
This is not what I want. She repeats over and over, at the verge of salty tears.
Countless nights rolling on the sheets of her bed without being able to sleep, questioning why this had to be her life, why she did not have the option of being free and being able to choose, but it was the curse of being the eldest sister of the family and the legitimate heir to the throne. To have to take someone's hand forcibly for the simple fact of reigning and uniting lands and thus being able to prosper. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.
But it was the price I had to pay for living up to the expectations of the family, always trying to please others just to see a smile on their faces, not to hear complaints or have to fight or say anything about it. Trying day and night to be the perfect daughter figure, trying to do everything to the letter but... for what? To live a life she didn't even want, with someone she didn't even love just because her parents wanted her to?
Her eyes shift from her reflection to the ring resting around her ring finger, and she feels a churning in her stomach as she looks at it, contempt reflected in her eyes to the point that it forces her to take it off and leave it on the rustic wood.
Her fiancé, Ayato, he was a good man, a prince from a distant land, kings friend of her parents who since they were in diapers had planned the long awaited union, you could say he was the perfect boy. He brought her flowers whenever he visited her, and made sure the letters arrived safe and sound, little poems written on an old leaf that could take anyone's breath away, he was good, and she was sure he could be a good king, a husband even, but... it wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't him.
She still remembers when she was first introduced to him, never in her life had her heart beat so hard at his figure, managing to take the breath completely out of her lungs and she still remembers the way the heat rose quickly to her cheeks, forcing her to swallow hard. Pure muscle memory that moment when her hand touched his and a current of electricity hit them lightly, smiling shylt at the little spark.
And since that day it's been just sleepless nights, in the dimness of her room thinking about the young man who escorted her every night to her room. Playing with myself at the mere thought of his rough hands running over every inch of her body, soft lips kissing the expanse of her skin making her sigh his name and nothing but his name with every calculated touch.
A smile spreads across her face at the thought of the young man, and just as she finishes applying her makeup and rising from the comfort of her chair, the aforementioned stands in front of her. "Kazuha.", voice trying to hide the palpable excitement. "Yes please, let's go. It's been a while since we went there.", her eyes scan every inch of his features, trying to memorize every detail and enjoy the sweet sound of his voice.
Heart flipping the moment his thumb makes contact with her lips, and for a millisecond she imagines sucking on it, but instantly recomposing herself. "Yeah...," a lump forms in her throat at your words. "I wish you could stay by my side — just a little bit longer. I don't think I'll ever find someone like you.", she says this last whispering more to herself, praying you haven't heard her as she wraps her arm around yours, feeling your muscles tense under her grip and slowly begins her calm walk.
The only thing you hear in the background are both of your footsteps, candles adorning the long, grand corridors of the establishment as you make the familiar walk. There is a sepulchral silence adorning the atmosphere, and a heavy sigh is the only thing that comes from within as she rests her cheek on your shoulder, looking up at you. "I missed this." You.
She just hopes she could find the right moment to say everything but... would you feel the same?
He planned a nice evening for that night. Maybe this time he would let you lick the cream right off his cock, and end up fucking you against one of the kitchen counters. Any option would occur after a nice dinner that was prepared by the old lady's instructions, taking care of even the smallest fucking detail to be able to surprise you. He knows you've been working hard, as you always have been commanded to, so he figured a little compensation wouldn't hurt.
If not for the wave of mercenaries behind his back, he would have made it in time.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” An exhausted sigh leaves him, his head thrown back. “You know you're ruining my fucking chances of getting laid tonight with my really hot girlfriend, don't you?” His swords rest in his dark-gloved palms, his face tilted a fraction, the red and black suit framing every part of his build as he dodges each blow. “Ah, of course. Forgive me. It's not like you guys have love prospects. My mistake.”
Bullets explode in the alley, his boots clicking on the floor as he climbs the stairs. He slides down the railing and a smile flashes from under his mask the instant he hangs from it, falling on top of one of the big guys who was trying to shoot at him, his thighs pressing against the sides of his face. “Easy, big guy. Watch my balls, huh? Treat them with love.”
“Hmpft! Who the hell do you think—?”
He pressed so hard bones cracked, swords now at his back, pistols in both palms. “Sh, sh. The more quiet you are, the prettier you look. Didn’t your mommy teach you that? You sure are noisy. It does surprise me. I would’ve shut you up with a pacifier the instant you were born.” He laughed, then looked to his side, pointing his guns. “As for the rest of you… Say hello to daddy Jesus for me, yeah? Though, wait! I doubt you'll get there.” He pretended to think about it for a second. “Hm, hm. Well, Hitler would do. Tell him I say hi, and that he's a son of a motherfucking bitch.”
Two well-seated bullets to heads, his body jumping off the now unconscious man. The barrel of his gun was directed at his forehead. “Oh, my dear friend. How many memories we had together… Sweet dreams, my one and only. You were a good temporary seat.”
The sound of the bullet and the presence of small drops of blood on his shoes was an indication of a job well done, the light of the night bathing his complexion now that he sees corpses everywhere. He lifted the sleeve of his suit slightly, glancing at the Hello Kitty's watch that marked five minutes to seven.
Maybe he'd have some time to piece something together before you arrive, after all.
“Shit. My shoes! They were freshly polished…” He pouted, kicking the unconscious man's head close to his sole. “You dirty cock-sucker. Do you have no respect for civilians!?”
He stowed his guns on his belt, and his gaze drifted to a restaurant that had 24/7 written on it in colorful lights.
“... On the other hand,” He pondered, crouching a bit while he slipped his hands in the pockets of the dead body. “I’ll forgive this incident if you invite me to dinner. You know, my girlfriend would have adored meeting you. Such a nice little guy!” He found the wallet, smacking the guy across the head. “What? For me, you say? You shouldn’t have bothered! I’ll pray for you. Promise. You’ll get to heaven.”
Free dinner deserves grace and thankfulness.
[...]
The smell of food was perceptible throughout the apartment, his figure still covered by the suit, a pink apron on his body while the radio played a tune of classical music. His swords had been deposited in a safe place next to the arsenal of weapons that he carried with him, and the only thing that could remain as proof of his possible involvement in a quick job was the blood on his boots.
He had disposed of any trace evidence of his purchase, the bags and containers lying in a dumpster outside. He did what any romantic man would do: deposit all the contents in different saucepans to make it look like it was his own handiwork.
When he heard the click of the keys, the creak of the door and your exhausted sigh, he had to stop himself from dragging his complexion to you, staying flat on the ground for an instant. Come on, Gojo, you can do this. Keep it sexy. Let her come to you. Play cat and mouse. You've been doing this for months.
He slid his complexion through the frame, now too late, seductively looking at you (or apparently - his mask wasn't very accurate with the detail.)
“Well, would you look at that?” A whistle. “Welcome home, my pumpkin pie.”
His deep voice broke into the environment, watching intently as you got rid of your belongings, depositing everything in its respective place. To be honest, Gojo never imagined this kind of domesticity. When he remembers the time he saved you from a couple of bandits trying to rob you, he comes to the conclusion that it wasn’t intentional - he wasn't any kind of hero, much less had the ambitions to be.
But his body acted on its own, and here you were, long arms reaching out to wrap around your waist. “You know? You have been neglecting me a lot lately.” He feigned a pout, gloved hands moving up the shirt you were wearing. He rubs his fingertips on your skin, sniffing your scent. He could get drunk on it, without the need for alcohol. “I should spank you. You don't do that to your devoted boyfriend, who's been up all afternoon making you dinner. Without moving from my place. And causing trouble. And killing people in an alley of questionable provenance.” His hands descended to your butt, smacking it with a little force. “Fuck. I love your ass. Have I told you before?”
He raised the mask with one of his hands, revealing his face.
Angelic constructions turned toward you, white lashes kissing snowy cheeks. His blue gems sparkle at the sight of you, and a wicked smile lights up every nook and cranny of the place. “I would have left the mask on because I know how hot it turns you to fuck when I have it on, but I want a kiss.” Another pout, both hands now going to your cheekbones, pulling you closer to him as he leans in close to you. “Kiss me, or I'll have to steal it from you, and I don't think the first thing you want after coming home from work is to have my tongue lasciviously buried down your throat…”
An ideal boyfriend, clearly.
If his nocturnal activities, work, and interpersonal relationships were ignored.
Gojo Satoru.
A deep sigh escapes her lips, dropping her shoulder with resignation and tiredness. She just wanted to get home, nothing more.
It had been a pretty hectic and stressful day at the hospital, too many kids screaming and crying in the hallways, infatuated with the slightest thing and screaming every time a needle came near them, grumpy old people without a shred of education and the typical not-it-all trying to tell her how to do her own job, can you believe it? It had been exhausting.
Maybe he should have been a stripper.
Her feet drag on the worn carpet of the building's hallways as she carved her eyes tiredly. There's a slight headache that makes every step hurt, and already at this point her backpack is dragging on the same floor as she passes by the open door of the old lady next door, waving her hand at her with a soft smile on her lips, but all she gets in return is a serious look on her face and a pair of eyes that are not visible through the dark sunglasses she is wearing. Why is was always like this? Whenever Satoru said hi to her she replied, even though it was a frown in her face, she did. But when the girl waved her hand happily every morning, nothing happened. Maybe she wasn't fond with her at all.
She feels like she might cry as she crosses the threshold of the door, leaving her things on the floor, but all frustration melts away as she is greeted with joy by your figure. Feeling her heart pounding and heat rising to her cheeks as your strong arms wrap around her drawing her into your body tightly. "Hey, my honey butter biscuit.", she laughs at herself because one day she's being rescued by a dreaded mercenary with a Hello Kitty watch and black and red suit —which he wears because according to him, and I quote; «Red makes blood camouflage better.»— and the next that same mercenary is waiting for her with dinner ready and wearing a Barbie apron around his waist.
The twists and turns of life I guess.
"So you didn't move from here, huh?" She squeezes your cheeks. "Then why are you wearing your suit at home and why are there footprints of dried blood on the floor?", her gaze shifts from you, to the floor and then to you again. "Also you're trending on Twitter, again. There's a video of you climbing the emergency ladder trying to get into the apartment and then falling, you fell like two times, Satoru. If it weren't because you kill bad guys we would be arrested, both of us. Also your ass looks amazing from that angle, babygirl. I saved the video." she grins at the nickname, teasingly waiting for a reaction, as your hands descend her ass abruptly, strong thick fingers squeezing the flesh feeling her own breath tremble. "Yeah, you tell me that every single time, don't cream your pants."
Her palms come down to your pecs, feeling your calm heartbeat against them and the heat rises quickly to her face as intense blue eyes finally look up at her properly. "Fuck—It's so hot when you have the mask on while we fuck, plus you're too pretty it makes me nervous when I look at you, but... I guess I can give you a little kiss if that's what you want. Though I would like something else buried down my throat—", a bite on her lower lip makes its presence known as dove eyes look up to you; she smiles before closing the distance and curious fingers entangle themselves in the soft white strands.
Warm breaths mingling as her tongue instructs itself in your warm cavity. Exploring the insides of your mouth, swallowing a low growl as her nails lightly scratch the nape of your neck and her pearly teeth bite your lower lip before pulling away, a thin trickle of saliva being the only thing connecting both of you and one of her palms cups your defined jaw. "—like food, for example! Also I bought some mochi with cream.", her eyes closing as she smiles, feigning innocence behind her words as she pulls the small cardboard bag from her backpack with the store's logo on it and heads to the kitchen as if nothing happened. "Oh! You cooked chicken from KFC, I like it." looking at the plates adorning the table in the middle of the place. "Suguru told me you stopped there and bought food, he said you were running so fast you didn't see him, also that you fell, how many times?" a laugh escapes her as she peeks at your from the kitchen. "Are you coming or not?"
It's obvious by now. His promotional company amasses fortunes, and he has a source of income that allows him the luxury of regular travel. He lives in a mansion that's bigger than the average hotel, and he drives the vehicle of the year. For a man who has it all, per se, it is still difficult for him to fully comprehend how he ended up in the situation he is in now.
He has his thrown head back, leaning against the railing, glancing at his watch from time to time. He's wearing casual clothes, but he doesn't fail to carry his usual lack of elegance — he wants to look presentable for his meeting, at the end of the day — as he awaits an instance that he knows won't be prolonged. You were always punctual for your meetings, after all, and Kuroo knows you won't start letting him down now.
It was a transactional relationship at first. You met because one of your friends was dating Kenma, and in one of the many encounters, he ended up pulling you in front of his catty eyes, ruining his perception for life. The only thing he saw from there was you with your pretty face, your soft lips, your smile, your eyes; your way of speaking fascinated him, the accent flowing when you referred to him, or touched on a topic of your career and skills. He knew he liked you from then on, and even though he wasn't aware of how you ended up entangled in the sheets, you decided not to give any label to what you had, other than a relationship of sexual encounters. A sort of dysfunctional friends-with-benefits.
Dysfunctional, of course, because Kuroo had his feelings too involved.
You've been seeing each other for half a year now, and it was only a few months ago that his habits changed. He started taking you to expensive lingerie stores, offered to buy your mother a new house, and proceeded to take you to expensive restaurants — your life became designer clothes, extended spa sessions, and green bucks you couldn't refuse under any circumstances.
And Kuroo?
Kuroo loves to spend all his money on you.
When he sees your figure approaching a smile settles on his lips, almost amused and elusive. He holds onto the railing with one hand, flicks his hair back with the other, and licks his lips, cutting gaps with you as he rests his hands on your waist, lifting you into the air, making you laugh as he twirls you around a couple of times. “Hey, pretty girl,” His throaty voice interrupted. The white t-shirt he was posing that time was accented nicely to his pecs, a product of all the work at the gym. He wrapped your legs around his waist. “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, moh. I had to cancel a couple of meetings to come pick you up at the airport. Aren’t I the best?”
He sat you down against the surface slowly, glancing to his side at his escorts, who soon took care of your luggage. Because you had to travel from Argentina to Japan, Kuroo made all the necessary arrangements for you to use his private jet under the circumstances — and now it's a habit, his arm sliding around your shoulders as he clutches you to his frame. “I missed you.” Despite everything, the teasing edge was still imbued in his every sentence. If you weren't looking closely, it would be tricky to decipher that his words were true, lips resting against the bare skin of your neck. “Next time I'll come to visit you. I think it will be a good opportunity to let your mother force me to drink mate again, don't you think?”
He began to lead you towards the outskirts where his private vehicle waited, holding your hand between his. The domesticity was apparent, of course; anyone seeing you would think you were an engaged couple, or newlyweds, when it was quite the opposite.
Anxiety was eating Kuroo alive, and the lack of officialdom was a nightmare.
Despite the fact that he had his ways of dealing with it.
“Oh, by the way, before anything…”
He placed a hand on your waist, pulling you close enough to him that his lips brush against your ear. His breath is warm against your skin, rubbing against you with the sprout of a shallow touch. He knows he can coax any bodily reaction out of you, especially when he has two heads of advantage on you, and his aggrandized palms hold you still.
“I have a surprise for you.” He blows his lips, causing the hairs on your body to rise. “I think you're going to like it. After all, you're a little masochist, aren't you?” His hand ascended to your chin, squeezing your cheeks together in a pout. “Ow. I'm going to have so much fun with you, huhu. I just hope it doesn't make you cry too much…” He trailed off, thoughtfully. He paused for a second, and he laughed softly, the vibration coursing through your body. “On second thought, maybe you're going to cry. And I might enjoy it more than I should. You’re such a pretty crier after all, are you not, baby girl? So cute.”
Who was he, if he didn’t have a plan beforehand?
And an evil one, at best.
Kuroo Tetsurou.
A course of anxiety runs through her veins rapidly. The red sundress clinging to her figure when she begins to close the distance to the glass windows of the airport.
There is a certain fire in her cheeks and she feels as if her heart is going to burst out of her chest causing the grip on her bags to tighten. "This is stupid.", she says to herself, it's stupid the way she feels the excitement run through her figure and a wave of nervousness sweeps over her as she sees your body in the distance awaiting her arrival after leaving the luxurious private jet behind.
A float of strange emotions take over her being as she feels her legs falter, maybe she should turn around and leave, get back to her firm, there's a lot of cases to work on after all, right? Just... maybe she should pretend those feelings didn't even exist all, as if that relationship with the sole purpose of being pleasurable has overstepped the boundaries and broken the only rule that had been imposed and had to be followed: do not catch feelings.
Everything went downhill a couple of months ago, not knowing when or how, but when she least expected it, she was by your side watching you peacefully sleep, studying your every features and how your nose puckered slightly when you fell into the sleep of morpheus, your messy hair, the little freckles adoring your cheeks, absolutely everything
After some time the love songs began to make sense, a particular face appearing in her mind with every little phrase, imagining herself with him in every situation, suddenly in the love scenes in romantic movies they were the protagonists, forming little scenarios in her head as time passed. Wondering if his heart beat with the same intensity every time he saw her, if he felt that need to always have her near and always look for the opportunity to hear her voice. Wanting for know about his day, how was work, what his favorite movie was, or the things he hated. She was...
Utterly fucked.
Her hands tremble as her complexion approaches and she feels his warmth the moment she closes the distance. A laugh of complete bliss leaving her throat as his hands hold her. "Someone is excited to see me.", arms wrapping around his waist as her feet gently touch the ground, looking up to him with a teasing smile on her face. "Oh please, say that I'm more important and interesting than some boring meeting. Just say that and stop lying to yourself, Tetsu, okay? It's bad for you health." a chuckle escaped her lips, finding it funny what she herself says. "But I missed you too, bab—," she cuts herself off before finishing the sentence, overthinking about has stressed her so much that now her fantasies and reality are mixed. "Actually she's going to be glad, she's still laughs remembering when you burned, like c'mon!" a wheezes erupts from her mouth, "How can you be that stupid? I told you like five times it had boiled water, I'm starting to question your IQ, you know? Are you actually that smart? Mmm, I don't think so."
It was... weird, to say the least. They were like those people who talked, acted and did everything as if they were a couple even though they were quietly the opposite, but the connection was so strong that if you asked them if they were something more, they wouldn't know what to say. There were things that at this point, were beyond their reach.
A current of electricity runs down her spine and she is forced to have to adjust her dress slightly when his voice booms in her eardrums, lower than normal, about 8 octaves lower. A heavy sigh penetrating her lips as her cheeks tinge a strong crimson red, forcing herself to look sideways and then into his intense eyes that looked up at her expectantly. "You really enjoy this, huh?" she licks her lips to bite the bottom one, four fingers curling into the belt of his pants to pull him in to her a little more, hips touching and gracing now, forcing her back against the expensive car and their bodies pressed together. "I have a surprise for you as well, Tetsu." the lust is palpable in her tone, fingers tangling themselves in his blalck locks and caressing his scalp slightly. "So let's hurry up. I don't think you want your bodyguards to find out I have nothing underneath, right? Unless, of course, you're into that stuff as well, you little pervert."
A silent exchange takes place under the premonition of the night's denouement, hungry beasts appraising their prey, considering when is the ideal moment to sink their teeth into it. One thinks it's better to take her when she's off guard—in the moment she creates a blanket of unattainable self-assurance around herself, believing to be untouchable, and managing a reality that is fictitious.
The other, of course, it’s far from reasonable.
He thinks it doesn't matter what the circumstances are, as long as he has her spread open, cock buried to the brim.
The obvious difference in reasoning would not be a problem. On the contrary, it was a plus. The fact that Geto and Gojo had a different way of dealing with things made it all the more entertaining.
And entertainment they would have.
“Did’ya hear that, Suguru?” it came accompanied by a low chuckle, laden with arrogance. There was a visual exchange, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. His mouth was watering just seeing your expression contracted in pleasure, though he knows it won't be something potentially long-lasting. “I think the brat says she's going to fuck you in front of me. Do you believe the audacity she has?”
There are evil tints in blue gems and dark eyes. Much is happening even though there is no movement. Pieces are being placed in their respective positions.
“Hm, I got to give it to her, though. I like her attitude. She knows what she wants, Satoru. Won't you give her the benefit of the doubt? Grant her wish, perhaps?” he descended a little, raising your dress. He had to restrain his hands to tear it off, since he knows it's your boyfriend's favorite. He doesn't want to lose the privilege of seeing this show in close-up, even if just for a second. “I think she wants to have my cock in her tight little pussy while you just sit there with a hard-on in your pants. Do you think that's fair play?” he feigned a thoughtful stance. “I don't believe in the concepts of clean methods as long as a goal is achieved. However, despite such a thing, my suggestion is…”
He quickly removed his tie with one hand, unexpectedly, catching your hand and the other, linking them together in a knot that had a small bow on it. A small gift, perhaps, with a betrayal in between. Suguru's closed-eyed smile no longer feigned complicity, but the opposite. As much as he would love to see Satoru restrained with ruddy cheeks, tight knuckles and an erection in his pants, he knows it would be more entertaining to tame you completely.
One thing they had in common among all their hobbies, was forcing obedience on those who wanted to superimpose power over them.
“... let's fuck the brattiness out of our lovely little slut together, shall we?” He placed your bound hands on top of your head, descending his body to your thighs and positioning himself between them, pulling you down so that you were sprawled on the couch, away from Gojo's lap, who was starting to remove his dark pants. Geto, for his part, patted your pussy in his hand, sighing, and trying to keep his composure. Such a pretty pussy. “I think we have to show her that we decide how we will fuck her, at what time we will fuck her, and in what embarrassing positions we will have her.” A harsh slap was placed on your pussy, hard enough to jolt your complexion. What could define Suguru Geto as just had vanished along with inhibitions, making room for a feast where you were the main course. “What do you think? Shall we show our little angel that we can make her our plaything, and not the other way around?”
Satoru's muscles flexed, a smile flashing with his intentions as he shed his boxers, letting his cock come into the air.
“Hell, yeah.”
The tip held pre-seminal fluid, a furious red color; the happy trail stretched across his pelvis, ending where his cock began. The veins lingered in the extension, menacing, promising to be run through even if it is their ultimate goal.
Suguru felt the constriction in his own pants.
“Let's teach her a lesson, then. We need to make clear that brats have no right to cum, and that they don't have to open their mouths unless ordered to.” He positioned himself on the couch, kneeling, hovering over your face. He could see you from below in that vulnerable position, rosy cheeks and embarrassed arousal. If you wanted to be fucked by his best friend, you would be fucked by his best friend. “This is what you wanted, isn't it? Then, you shall have. But not under your own rules, babygirl.” He caught your chin in his strong palm, his gaze unfocused, dark hues in the doom and emptiness that were his eyes. His remaining hand palmed your cheek. “Open wide, slut. We'll start by dealing with that noisy mouth of yours, mhm?” Even though you put up resistance, he didn't hesitate twice to force your mouth open, spitting in one go. “I said fucking swallow. Play nice, and you might get rewarded. Try to act smart, and cumming is the last thing you’ll ever get.”
He wasn't usually cruel, but seeing you trying to swallow forced his urges and cut the fine line of his sanity. Without further ado, he gave a little tap on your cheek to get you to open up again, and this time he buried his cock in your mouth. On a different occasion he would have given you time to get used to his girth, but right now, he had buried himself until your lips were kissing the base of his cock.
“Fuck. Take me, yeah? Swallow properly.” His countenance was fierce. Unfocused. His eyes were dazed, and he was seeing red. A laugh came from his throat. He was mocking you. God, he so badly wanted to bully the shit out of you, with your mouth full of cock. “Poor little thing. You can't talk now, can you? Where’s all that bitching you had in you? Where’s the attitude?” He cocked his head, feigning concern. He pressed his cock even harder, until he saw little tears. “This is how you plan to take two cocks?” One more push. “So needy. Such a needy little thing. Come on. Suck my cock. Show me you can take it. And, of course... Since you have no hands to work with, you'll have to make more of an effort.” He pouted. “I guess the pretty princess has to actually win her rewards, huh. Isn’t that just funny?”
Suguru chuckled from underneath, shaking his head. He had to admit, seeing that side of Gojo was worth it. He had you both where he'd always wanted to have you, and he could barely control himself. The scene was erotic — enough to make him thrust forward, pinching your clit between your fingers.
“Do as he says, beautiful. Swallow.” He cooed, softly, tearing at the bottom of your dark panties. He had no patience for dealing with obstacles, least of all when he had to exercise his end of the bargain. “If you want to have us both inside you, I bet this will be a piece of cake, won’t it?” He kissed the side of your thigh, and opened your pussy with two fingers, spreading his tongue around the contour—he wouldn't touch your clit, even if you were wet or throbbing with need. “Oh, Satoru. Your girlfriend is so wet. I think she likes to be pushed around and bullied a bit, don't you think?” He pinched your clit again, this time accompanied by another slap. He felt you wince, and a choked laugh erupted from his chest, the air against your pussy. “Try not to pass out now, okay, sweetheart?” a nibble to the little nerve center, taking his free hand and using two fingers to insert them into your hole. “Because I don't plan to stop eating this pussy, even if you cry. As you can see, I’m starving. And I won't waste a meal.”
His heavy, bold tongue began to wrap around your clit, tasting and collecting your juices on the tip of his palate. He could tell he was tasting one of the most gourmet meals he were ever offered, his fingers fucking themselves in and out, the suctions turning into something that didn't border on the gentle.
If Geto was tearing you to pieces on his tongue, Gojo would tear you to pieces on his cock.
Now that you are conscious, two abominable figures loom over you, promising one thing: retribution.
And you were so utterly fucked.
Satoru Gojo & Suguru Geto.
There are fat tears rolling down her rosy cheeks, choking back a moan deep in her throat as Satoru buries his cock in her mouth. There's a tinge of danger in his now dark blue orbs, along with that machiavellian smile that has her hanging on the thread between torment and pleasure.
She can't help it, it was as if the words just tumbled out of her mouth on their own without thought but she can't say she regrets it, she had Satoru right where she wanted him, a beast about to be let loose and an unwavering patience that could be trampled with a couple of words if you knew exactly what to say. Though she finds himself a little taken back by the sudden roughness, but the whole situation was making the puddle between her legs and his arousal spill over onto the black leather of the silicon. Her heart beats hard and fast against her chest, a current of electricity runs down her spine and she feels her legs falter as Suguru's skillful tongue makes contact with her dripping core, feeling the wet muscle run over every inch of her pussy, forcing her hips to thrust forward letting herself be carried away by the warm sensation he gives her.
Soft lips in contrast to the albino's roughness, deep grunts that only encourage her to take more until the dripping head touches the back of her throat relentlessly. The shuddering vibrations of her gagging make the man above throb as she begins to bob her head from back and forth while a pair of watery eyes make contact with lust-filled ones. Heavy on her tongue she swirls it around his cock, feeling the small veins pulse until she completely pulls away, tasting under her palate the salty taste of his precum.
Mascara running, black droplets staining the apples of her cheeks before sucking the tip one last time. The restraint of her wrists making the job twice as hard, twisting her hands slightly until the knot unravels enough for her to pull it completely free.
A proud smile takes over her face, a manicured hand wrapping around the throbbing length as it descends her face, nose bumping lightly against his cock as she goes to suck his balls, pressed against his tongue as she sucks hard and then licks a long strip over it teasingly to end at the head again, never taking her gaze from him. "Easy, big guy, will you? Don't be too eager." husky voice, about to take him in her mouth again but a broken moan erupts from her vocal cords as the raven-haired one inserts his thick fingers into her tight hole.
Hips lifting, unconsciously rubbing lightly against her face, feeling the rub of his nose on her swollen clit as he sucks hard, curling his fingers in and she has to restrain herself from closing her legs on each side of his skull from the giddy pleasure.
Dizzy, tearing out a loud moan with each pumping, she feels her thighs tremble, a tingle making itself present in her pelvis and she opens a little wider for him. She feels a strange sensation come over her, similar to when she is about to pee, but pleasure and lust consume her more than ever. Faint fingers tangle in his black lock in a failed attempt to try to push him away, but it's as if she has just pushed his head even further into her pussy. "Suguru —fuck. Suguru, wait... I'm going to...", her face nuzzling into her boyfriend's white bush, contorted in pleasure as her back arches and a broken voice interrupts the silence forming in the air. "S-slow down, please— Shit!"
Of all the things he could have imagined would adorn your body in that instance, he didn't imagine that the yellow sundress—his favorite, by the way—would be the chosen one, and more so in the presence of his best friend. He's tempted to back out of that deal; not to twist his arm willingly even if he is the cause of Suguru's blue balls. However, at the same time, he wants this to be a small test of probabilities.
A study where the subjects are unaware of his experimentation.
His beefy arms wrap around your frame, resting his chin on your shoulder. He can see Geto from this position, with that hungry gaze and that dark look of which you seem ignorant. He allowed himself to move up one of his hands to hold your hair in his grip, kissing your lower lip, his orbs focused on his opponent. “I missed you too, precious. Have you been a good girl in my absence?” He pressed your lips together lightly, just so you'd feel the brush. And cause a provocation. His hands had descended (releasing his grip) to settle on your buttocks, performing a pressure, enlarged palms massaging your cheeks while he could feel needles in his complexion. “A little birdie told me your work is going uphill lately, mh-mh. Am I going to have to fight Utahime for the place of your top priority, or would you force me to buy your hotel so that you have to be around me all the time?”
He knew what he was doing. His office was suddenly too warm, footsteps becoming audible as the opposite couch was suddenly empty, Getou bursting the atmosphere as he cocked his head to the side feigning ignorance. His smile was friendly on the surface, but upon closer inspection, the predatory overtones were visible. It was obvious what was going on.
A rivalry had broken out, and there was only one way to make amends.
“Jazmín.” His velvety tone broke through the comfort of your conversation and daring touches before his eyes. If anything, he would take advantage of your shyness, scrutinizing you to feel the weight of his desire. Probably, if your formulation of events were accurate, you would see clearly how much Geto is holding back from pouncing on you and slipping his hand under your dress, ripping off your lovely panties. What color would they be? Do you like pink? Or black? Would you have a lovely ribbon down the center, or would he find red lingerie? He wants to know everything, especially if he has you gagged with his heavy cock on your pretty tongue, your lips stained with his cum. “I'm fine now that I finally get to see you, sweetheart. Although, of course, I'm surprised Satoru didn't tell you I was here... After all, he was the one who offered for us to share time together. The three of us. You know how he is. Always wanting to keep his two favorite people together, don't you, Satoru?”
His closed-eyed smile hid the malice in his tone, the white-haired man's daggers being useless in the face of his charm.
He had to resign himself to let out a sigh at your new question, looking between you and Geto, not knowing the reason why his morbid curiosity was so dangerous. His longing to see his best friend fucking you had become a particular whim, driving him up a wall with no escape when his decision came in full force, the smile on his lips as mischievous as that of his companion.
He held your wrist gently, leading you to the couch, settling you between his legs as if you had belonged there since the beginning of time.
Before offering a reply, he held your chin subtly, forcing you to look at him. “You don't interrupt anything. As Suguru says, there was a slight change of plans. It's time for you to get to know each other better.” His nose nestled into your neck, sniffing you, his hands moving up from your soft, smooth thighs to the edge of your dress, lifting it gently. He looked down at the new lingerie set, and had to close his eyes, say three prayers, and return to his orbit, because there was no way... That this was intentional. “... I see you brought me a little gift as well.” He whispered, his voice a low octave. “Or brought us a little gift.”
Surely you had been a bit thrown off by the plural suggestion, so clarification was immediate as you visualized Geto once again. He was removing his jacket, setting it down on the chair and positioning himself in at the opposite end from Satoru, holding your legs and deciding to prop them up on his own lap, leaving you settled and reclining on your boyfriend's chest.
(If it went well, he would be called your boyfriend, too.)
The massage on your dermis was set in motion, his concentration plausible as he raised both eyebrows. “Oh, Satoru. Do you want to scare her? Don't be so blunt when you speak. She's trembling like a scared little bunny. I bet she thinks we want to ravish her.” He flashed his pearly smile, climbing up and up, stopping at your knees. “You trust us, don't you, honey? You know we just want to reward you. We've heard about all your new connections, and you work so hard… You must be so tired.”
Satoru finished by pulling up your dress, showing Geto your lingerie. The erection was squeezing his pants and rubbing against your ass, a vivid sign of what was to come, his guttural laughter rumbling through space at the sentences being uttered. Of course.
Good cop, and bad cop.
Looks like he must be the bad cop this time.
“Suguru, do you think she deserves to be rewarded? Just look at her lingerie. She's practically begging us to abuse her little holes until we make her cry and moan. Only bad girls look for provocative methods to get what they want.” He spread your legs with both hands, forcing Suguru to lean forward, one enlarged palm reclining over Satoru's as his cheek rested on the inside of your thigh. “Come on. Take a closer look at her. She sure has been wet since she entered the building. Isn’t that so lewd and slutty? Perhaps we should consider punishment instead.”
He could feel your trembling complexion, but Satoru would never initiate something he knew you couldn't handle. If this wasn't to your liking, he could stop at any time. He had no particular problem fucking you at his desk and getting Suguru out of his office.
A part of him, nevertheless, is almost certain, even before he whispers in your ear:
“Princess,” a hint of warning on the tip of his tongue, the fabric returning to cover your body a little, Suguru still watching you from below with hungry, heavy eyes. His tongue promises wonder, and Satoru's promises torment. It all falls to your hands as your chin is held, your eyes riveted on the white-haired man's. “You want to fuck Suguru, don’t you?”
The tone was forceful, and two ghoulish smiles regarded you with amusement, ready to devour you.
Satoru Gojo & Suguru Geto.
To be honest, nothing could have prepared her for this precise moment, although she could not say that the whole situation was unpleasant for her, quite the contrary actually.
Geto Suguru was a mysterious man in the eyes of everyone else, with a sharp tongue and a personality along with a type of words that could leave your legs shaking in a second, and she was no exception. Every word penetrated her ears as if it were the melodious song of a siren that instantly hypnotized her, telling her exactly what to do and making her succumb in a instant.
The girl would be lying if she said she didn't find him attractive, shit no— she was incapable of even making the attempt. Still remembering, playing in her head like a broken record, the way he looked at her the night they met, her eyes couldn't leave his figure either during the whole time. Curiosity prickled her insides, and there was a feeling of wanting to know him a little bit more with each little encounter, a building tension that was bound to break at any moment.
Still it wasn't that her own boyfriend wasn't enough, but there was that little and devilish voice in her left shoulder telling her that two were better than just one.
And although she had always sensed that tension between her Satoru and the raven-haired one, it wasn't something that she couldn't voice it out loud to the first mentioned, until this exact moment, of course. So this situation was simply perfect, just as her deepest fantasies would have imagined. Even better.
Every sentence by the two men made her heart pump blood to every part of her body rapidly, starting a second beat between her trembling legs as she tried to concentrate on both of them, but it was such an overwhelming sensation that it left her head spinning.
"Shit...," she bites her lip at the million dollar question. Stifling a soft moan as Satoru's erection poked her ass, and out of instinct she rubs herself lightly over his covered cock in an attempt to feel a little more of the albino.
Her eyes travel to the one in front of her, his warm breath hitting her skin causing a current of shivers to run down her spine. A heat burning her insides and the terrible feeling that her clothes were already beginning to bother her was triggering.
Stealthy fingers tangled in Suguru's black hair, massaging his scalp until she felt him sigh for her palm to descend to his hot cheek, gently caressing it, only causing that feeling of wanting more to increase. And at this point the answer was more than obvious to all three of them with those slight touches.
"I want to fuck him.", her voice came out slowly as she addresses Satoru, lips almost touching and moving from them to his piercing blue eyes. "I'm gonna fuck him, and you're gonna watch— but I bet you'll like that, don't you?"
The hand that was free plays with the edge of her black panties still covering her pussy. There's a choked gasp, her head drooping against her boyfriend's shoulder as she closes her eyes with a slight frown, exposing her glistening cunt to a pair of hungry eyes. A thin, transparent thread of arousal hanging from the lace fabric still connected to her pulsing center, making them both see how wet she was from just a couple of playful words, exactly like they said.
In full honesty, Satoru doesn't comprehend what caused this change of scenery.
It was an everyday thing. He trusted Suguru, after all. He knew perfectly well that he was capable of getting his hands dirty or putting them on fire for him, and it's a feeling that is reciprocated in every sense of the word. There is a reason why that company has both of their names as headlines; the reason for the success of Jujutsu Enterprises comes from their mutual effort, and it is a plausible fact that there is no force separating them at this point in their lives.
“So, If I hear this correctly…” Gojo rested his strong arms on his knees, his button-down shirt threatening to spill from the pressure of his pecs against the subtle, fragile garment. “You’re confessing to me that you've liked my girl for…” He averted his eyes for a second to the cell phone resting in his hand, a picture of you glowing on the screen. “months?”
Suguru, for his part, knows the reason why.
He hadn't expected it to happen. Gojo wasn't the type to formalize with just anyone: whoever was by his side had to be a handpicked individual with a lot of skill involved, and from the way things went the moment they met, Geto was clear about one thing:
Gojo Satoru was in love, and there was no turning back.
He would always support him in all his decisions. He would do anything for Satoru. More than associates, they were best friends—until the confusions began the fateful night he officially introduced you to his group of friends, and Suguru sensed almost in real time how the water unraveled the sand between his palms.
It was at a small party. You wore a pretty black dress, your hair was down, and you had a smile on your lips he would never forget. You were funny, charismatic, and exceptional. You danced amazing, and knew how to bring attention to yourself. Simply… perfect.
He would love to say something else about you, or lie to himself. Emphasize profusely that his eyes were not focused on your figure all night, imagining that his palms were on your hips like Satoru's, and his face on your neck, breathing or savoring the sweetness of your perfume.
He wished he could lie to Satoru's face, instead of confessing that he masturbated multiple times in the shower with your image in his head, or fucked people pretending it was your trembling figure under his. His fascination with everything about you was so unexpected that he can barely keep his thoughts in line, and now they just overflow, unexpectedly, until they become uncontrollable.
He flexes his muscles as he acquires a settled posture, crossing his legs and nodding his head. He takes a sip of the liquor in his glass. “Yes.” His voice was forceful at the confession, sliding his intense eyes on the white-haired man. “It was on the night we agreed to that contract with Mitsui. You introduced her to us. To Shoko, Nanami, and me. I couldn't get her out of my mind ever since.” He let out a sigh, leaning his head back. “I knew she had to be special, because, fuck, you don't like just any girl—but she was more charming than I expected.” He paused, and said, “Does that upset you?”
Despite the fact that Gojo stays in an extreme sepulchral muteness that is unusual, there is a question that disturbs the recesses of his head, in that specific space in his office away from the eyes of others. A tidal wave of possibilities are reborn in events that were memorialized in liquor, and now bloom back to demonstrate their potency.
It's not like the idea is entirely out of place. After all, Satoru loves to have what others do not. He knows he won the lottery with you, and he enjoys it every time he has you beneath him, your legs against your chest as his cock drills your pussy, reminding you that you belonged to him.
But now that there's a new possibility—Suguru's feelings, and his own past with the aforementioned—his imagination takes a drastic change. A play that appears beneath his eyelids as he sighs, Suguru sitting right there, watching, expectant, as his own lithe fingers pump your pussy and opens you up just for him. For them.
It's dangerous, then, for such an idea to flourish, and even more so when you're supposed to visit him in his office in less than...
He looked at his watch.
Oh. Of course. Five minutes.
“Oh, Suguru. Why would I be upset? You just have a nasty habit of liking pretty girls, especially if they are my girl. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say?” His tone of voice was icy, even when his look and smile indicated otherwise. “At the end of the day, we've always liked the same girls. It's not unrelated to our relationship... Despite that, of course, Jazmin—” Now his blue gems were blades, capable of cutting diamond. “It's a special case.”
“You won't get an apology for the uncontrollable, if that's what you expect.” He countered. Gojo just laughed softly, shaking his head. “I think you know perfectly well what I'm getting at.”
He thought about it for a second.
A part of him, as sickly as it was, just wanted to keep you to himself. To allow no man to touch you. To hold his best friend's hair and smash his face multiple times against the glass surface. However, such a thing was a mere fantasy shining through a confused psyche.
The other part, stronger than he is, beats his rationality.
Curiosity is such a fickle little thing.
“Do you want to fuck my girlfriend, Suguru?” he questioned, rising from his seat. His hand had traveled to the black-haired man's chin, holding his defiant gaze, the cell phone abandoned on the couch. They were used to that unusual tension between the two, of course-—but, currently, it was unbearable. “You want to fuck her little pussy while your fingers are in her mouth and I open her up for you?”
When Suguru raised his hand, holding the back of his neck and forcing him to tilt his face, the position of power became obvious. “Yes,” A smile rose at the corners of his mouth, revealing his sharp fangs. “I want to fuck your girlfriend's little pussy while you open her up for me, and my tongue is down your throat. But I bet you find that idea fascinating, don't you?”
Before there could be a mutual retort, they both heard the knock of the door, Satoru’s secretary's voice murmuring a:
“Mr. Satoru, sorry for… disturbing. Your girlfriend is here. She is wondering if you’re ready to receive her?”
He looked at Suguru, the prevailing erection in his pants, and to the door.
Oh, of course. How could he forget?
“Tell her to come in.” He palmed Suguru’s bulge, earning a grunt, and going back to his standing posture with the cheekiest of smiles. “We have a little surprise for her, if things go accordingly.”
That was the perfect chance.
Satoru Gojo & Suguru Geto.
"I owe you one, Hime.", the soles of her white tennis shoes squeak on the luxurious and expensive black porcelain tile that covered the entire floor of the building as she moved forward with tranquility. Holding her phone between her delicate fingers while hearing the other one babble from the other side of the line.
"I know you can handle the hotel on your own, I know you're capable of it—", steps getting a tidy bit quicker, waving at the employees with a smile on her face before entering the glass elevator with a little hop. "—you're my best friend for a reason, and my right hand woman, of course. You know that I trust you with my life... Don't cuss at me, I know you're blushing." a chuckle echoes in the small compartment as her eyes scan the place around her with mere curiosity, watching as she slowly ascends. Just a few people still present in the building in the glooming night becoming tiny at a glance, like a small anthill.
Tiny figures coming and going with stacks of papers and taking desperate calls with a look of stress plastered on their faces, carefully passing by each of the floors while fixing her hair in the small reflection on the crystal glass. "Plus Kawari is gonna be there today, keep an eye on that prick. I don't want him to make us look bad in front of the guests, he'll probably try to sabotage us somehow."
There's a grimace on her face for a millisecond, and then a wheeze followed by a quiet chuckle. "I know! It looks like a cow licked his hairline... What? Yeah... I have it on, great choice by the way, thank you for that." she gives a quick glance at the lace strap perched over her shoulder under her clothes. "Black is his favorite, I know he's gonna love it— He's been so busy lately... I'm just gonna make him relax a little if you know what I mean.", a small ringing bell echoing in her eardrums lets her know she's arrived to the last floor of the big company. Sliding doors opening wide to make way for her excited figure. "Why did you sound like you were about to throw up? Anyways... I have to go now. Talk to you later, and yeah— I'll let you know how everything goes. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Bye bye."
Her eyes scan the place warily, dim lights adorning the small complexion and the large door at the back of the place, decorated with a minimalist reception desk a few feet away from it. "Azumi, hi!", the complexion of the young woman startles in her place, finishing packing her few belongings before departing. "Is Satoru still here?"
"Oh! Miss Jazmin. Yes, let me inform him of your arrival before I leave.", she watches the girl knock a couple of times, nodding at the other side's words and replying back before turning around. "You can come in now, have a nice evening." and with a final bow from both of them as a sign of respect and farewell, she walks into the huge office.
There is a big smile curving her rosy lips, and a crimson red flooding her cheeks as she comes upon the white-haired man standing in the middle of the place. There is a warm sensation in her belly as her arms wrap around his waist and she inhales his addictive perfume, nuzzling her face into his chest while she does so. "I missed you so much." she murmurs and then deposits a chaste kiss on his bare neck, sensing how his snowy pale skin shivers at the sudden contact.
The woman breaks away for a moment when she hears a throat clearing at a considerable but not so distant distance behind her, realizing the intimidating presence of the black-haired one over the leather couch. "Oh, Suguru! I didn't know you were there, it's been a while... How have you been?", she says with a friendly grin.
The tension is palpable in the atmosphere, so intense that she would be able to cut it with a pair of scissors if it were even visible to the mere eye, forcing her to fix her yellow sundress that reaches her bare thighs, and then turning back to face her boyfriend and whisper an inaudible, "Am I interrupting something? Not that I mind his presence —quite the opposite, actually— but I thought it'd be just the two of us tonight."
A little message here thanking all of you for charanoning not only for me if not everyone out there, I know how stressing it may be and you’re all so awesome for doing that. Never forget to take your own time, focus on your personal life and don’t overwork yourself, remember to drink water and eat. Thank you so much once again<33
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